In The Summer Time - A Frodo Baggins Love Story
by mrs.kirkland-jones
Summary: You've known Frodo your whole life, but he's only ever thought of you as 'that awkward friend.' With your father planning big things behind your back, and a journey calling Frodo's name, will you ever be able to tell him how you feel?
1. An Unexpected Invitation

**Hello**!

**This will be my first proper story I put up. I'm uploading the first few chapters from my Wattpad account, so they'll all be up today, with the rest going up when I get round to writing them. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. Namaste!**

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It is a glorious day in The Shire.

Birds sing in the beautiful Mid-year's Day sunlight as you lie in the soft emerald grass on the outskirts of Hobbiton. A sweet-smelling breeze sweeps over your small, pale face and you inhale it deeply, smiling. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on your touch; the flowers that match those tangled in your hair, the soft lush beneath you, the warmth of sunbeams streaming through the twiddling trees onto your skin.

You hear a rustling sound near by, and take it for a rabbit or squirrel. The Shire is a peaceful and joyous realm. The sound gets closer and eventually stops next to you before you hear the breathing of another being. It sounds as if they're sitting, so out of curiosity, you open your eyes to find next to you Frodo Baggins of Bag-End. He's led so close, his intense cyan eyes trying to hold yours. His mouth, kissable as ever, forms his loveable trademark grin and his eyes flick downwards in embarrassment before looking back to you.

"Don't you have to be somewhere right now? Sam is probably all of the shop looking for you." You smirk.

"Same for you, (y/n). The festival starts soon; you should be getting all pretty and stuff." Mumbles Frodo awkwardly.

"Are you saying I'm not pretty enough already?" You pout teasingly.

"No! Of course not!" Frodo's cheek suddenly flush scarlet, his face panic-stricken. In an attempt to save himself, he babbles out unintelligible nonsense. You giggle at his loss and stand, hair flickering in the breeze. You look down at him, mouth still searching, and admire for a few moments how beautiful he actually is. His soft, chocolate curls have become entangled amongst the flowers scattering the hills. Slowly closing his dazzling azure eyes, you notice how small follicles of light dance across his almost snow-white skin, illuminating his entire self.

"Are you staring, (y/n)? I feel your eyes bore into me.' Frodo says, smirking a little now that he had regained his composure.

"No, I was just thinking... I don't have anybody to go with to the festival. Most of my friends live outside of Hobbiton and wouldn't travel this far." You sigh.

"I could take you."

"But you always go with Sam, Merry and Pippin."

"There's room for one more. Come on," Says Frodo, "They'll all be wandering where we've gotten off to on our own." He stands swiftly before holding his arm out to you. You take it with a smile as you both stroll arm and arm back to the village.


	2. Fireworks

"Aye, there you are!" The always-happy voice of Peregrin Took greets you both as you slowly tread over hill. You run to greet him, hugging him tightly when you arrive. As you pull back, you notice both Sam and Merry, and give them too, the same embrace.

"It's been such a while since we've gathered, little lass!" Beams Sam, "Mr Frodo! You never told us (y/n) would be gracin' us with 'er presence!"

"Ha, I did not know myself until quite recently." Frodo smiles a little triumphantly, one which you can't help but mirror.

"The sun will be setting soon." You breathe, "We can all sit and watch over the hills, then the moon under the fireworks." You turn to Frodo as you say this, a faint glimmer glazing over his Brandeis blue eyes as his grin widens even more.

"Yes, I think we'd all rather like that.' Says Merry, slinging an arm over both yours and Pippin's shoulders. "And then later, perhaps...?" Both he and Pippin raise their eyebrows in obvious question.

"What kind of a girl do you take me for?" You giggle, "And besides, Pippin is probably more in question."

"Haha, I was thinking both."

"Perhaps." You wink, only playing along of course. From the corner of your eye, you notice Frodo's jaw set and the shine from his eyes gone. Sam goes to console him, but is just pushed away. "Let's get going, then!" You say in an effort to move on.

After some shuffling, all of you eventually make your way to an enormous dance pavilion put up in the centre of the village. Delicate fairy lights hang from overhead wooden beams and trees, ready to be lit later. Overflowing barrels of flowers stand at different intervals, with every size, shape and colour you could imagine. A sweet-smelling scent fills the air, perhaps cakes or bread, along with pleasant, upbeat music emanating from the band setup on a nearby stage. Hobbits of all kinds are crowded in large groups, some drinking, others laughing and some dancing.

"This is wonderful!" You exclaim, throwing your arms out behind and spinning in place. "Care for a dance, anyone?" You turn to your group, Merry pushing Pippin forward. Teasing him, you grab his hands and begin to skip in a dance, slowly but surely, getting him to join in. You giggle a lot, throwing your head back, as he does his. Eventually, both Sam and Merry join you, all circling each other with perfect intricacy.

"Don't you want to join us, Frodo?" You stop to ask, tugging at his arm playfully.

"Perhaps in a moment," He replies solemnly, "I'm quite alright just watching you for now, (y/n)."

"If you insist. But you must promise me a dance later."

"I promise." He says with a smirk. You catch his eyes once again; iridescent sapphires glistening in the sunlight, a perfect contrast to his gleaming alabaster teeth, just paler than his perfectly smooth skin. You noticed these little things of his, both his traits and flaws. The way the corners if his mouth creased as he laughed, and how his burnt umber curls swiftly fell over the sides of his face, framing it beautifully.

From almost out of nowhere, Gandalf stands behind Frodo, watching you both. He has an omniscient look upon his crinkled face. Both of his withered hands lie to rest on his staff, eyes piercing into both your and Frodo's heads.

"Frodo, my boy," He says, "May I have a moment to talk with you?"

"Yes, of course Gandalf!" Answers Frodo, "As long as you don't mind...?" He turns to you.

"Of course not" You beam, "Anyway, I should probably go and find out where the others have got to." You gesture to the empty gap in the crowd where Sam, Merry and Pippin stood only moments ago. Both of you smile at each other as you part your separate ways, agreeing to meet in the same place once you were both ready.

After pausing to think, you decide to first search near the feasting tables. You push your way through the dense crowds, apologising as you go. The air is pretty thick as it chokes your throat; it's becoming rather claustrophobic and you hope to find your friends soon.

The sun is just starting to set as you reach the food. Breads and meats and fruits of every kind are piled in ornamental piles portraying mountains and animals. It's quieter here, although you can still hear the distant sound of laughter.

"Ah, (y/n)!" A slightly elderly voice calls, "It's so lovely to see you!" You turn to see a hobbit older than most clad in a red waistcoat, waving his hands above his snowy hair.

"Bilbo!" You call with broad smile cracking over your face. You sprint to him, holding your arms out wide for a hearty hug.

"The last time I saw you girl, you were stood at only half a foot!" He laughs.

"I'm three and a half now!" You say, standing on the tips of your toes and lifting your chin. "You haven't seen three hobbits around here, have you?

"It depends on which three you mean."

"Which three do you think?"

"Well Peregrin and Meriadoc slipped off behind that tent there," Bilbo points to a small white and red pinstripe tent near the edge of the festivities, "And as for Samwise, I quite frankly don't know."

"Haha, thank you Bilbo. I shall see you soon!"

"Indeed, (y/n)!" He waves you off as you skip towards his indication. It's even darker now, the once orange skies now turning to a gorgeous deep indigo. Dusk was always your favourite time of day - the sky filled with colour and twinkling stars that clustered around the pearly moon. As you move further away from the festival, the music and chatter die down, and familiar, childish laughter is heard instead.

"No! Put them back!" A deep voice calls.

"It's only a bit of fun, learn to live a little Sam. Now Pippin, pass me that one there."

"You mean this?"

"Yes, yes. Give them to me."

Knowing exactly what was going on, you carefully creep up to the flap that was the tent door and push it upwards with the palm of your hand.

"What _are _you doing?" You ask Merry accusingly.

"Look, Gandalf has gone off somewhere leaving all these fireworks alone, and it would be rude if we didn't set a few off." He shoots back.

"I don't really think we should be here though." You mumble.

"That's exactly what I've been tryin' teh tell 'em, Miss (y/n)." Croaks Sam.

"On the other hand..."

"What is it?" Pippin questions you.

"Do you need a third set of hands?" You beam, shrugging your shoulders, "There's no point in a party is you can't misbehave a little."

"That's the spirit, (y/n)!" Both Pippin and Merry wink at you.

"Mr Frodo won't be too pleased..." Grumbles Sam, turning to leave. "I'll tell 'im what you're all doin'."

"Pish posh, he won't mind. It's just a few explosives and three little hobbits: what's the worst that could happen?" You giggle as you rummage through the brightly coloured rockets.

"A lot. I can tell you that." Sam walks out, fists clenched. "I promised Mr Frodo, I promised..." He trails off.

"Heh, now he's out of the way, lets get to business!" Cheers Pippin. "Should I put it here?"

"You're supposed to light them outside, you lumock." You laugh.

"Oh. Right."

You all finally decide on a rather large pink one, with a fluorescent orange cap. Although slightly tacky in appearance, the tube is fat and quite heavy. Once outside, Pippin hands the firework to Merry to plunge into the grass outside. You, decidedly the most mature of the three, are given the job of lighting the fuse. Pippin grabs his matchbox from his breech pocket and gives it to you.

"Ready? You might wanna stand back a bit." You say, striking a match against it's box.

"You might wanna stand back a bit too, (y/n)." Blurts Merry. "The flame may catch on yer dress or something."

"I'll be fine!"

As the flame comes into contact with the fuse, it lets off a few tangerine sparks, quickly sizzling. You can feel it's warmth on your face as you pull back, watching it intently. The colours switching from an electric yellow to pumpkin to scarlet. Of course it was Gandalf's - no normal firework could be so beautiful and serene.

"(Y/n)!" Some calls your name and you feel strong arms pull you backwards. You land on top of your capturer with a 'thump' just as the rocket explodes before you.


	3. Friends

The first thought to scramble to your mind was 'ouch.' The second was 'what the heck just happened?' There are magnificently colourful lights waltzing above you, filling your vision as your eyes are fixed wide open in shock. The last thing you remember is setting off that firework, and what you see before you must be the result. Sudden bursts of green and blue and red and every other colour you could imagine dance in patterns amongst the stars.

"Ah," You hear someone groan, "Are you alright, (y/n)?"

You roll off of your saviour onto the grass to feel it's coolness against your burnt face. You give out a little yelp as you face plant the ground and manage to mumble a disgruntled "No."

"(Y/n)! Pippin! Are you two alright?" A familiar voice gets closer and closer towards you. Someone puts you onto your back and you stare up to meet the slightly teary eyes of Merry and Pippin, both faces filled with worry and strife. A rough cough escapes your dry throat as you put a hand to Pippin's cheek. His hair is black and singed slightly around his still smiling face, making you feel even worse for being so reckless.

"Pippin? Are you hurt? I'm sorry, you shouldn't have had to do that. You fool."

"Well if I hadn't, you wouldn't be here, now would yeh?" He smiles, pecking your forehead. "I'm a little bruised from pullin' yeh back, but I'll be fine. Yeh face should be okay - it's only a little red at most, right Merry?"

"Oh absolutely; a pinky blush, definitely. But I think we should get going now - don't wanna get in trouble or anything!" At that, Merry holds out his hand to you smiling and you take it gratefully. Pippin holds you underneath your arms as you stumble back onto your feet.

"Right, where are we going then?" You ask.

"Back to the party, of course!' Beams Pippin, "No one will suspect a thing!"

You brush yourself down slightly before begginging to walk back to the festival. The moon shines high in the sky, watching over The Shire - the twinkling fairy lights that had now been lit, the seemingly increased crowds of people, the dusky haze left from the explosion rolling over the hills. As you approach, the sounds of music and chatter grow, the light becoming brighter and warmer. You try to stay near the edge until your face no longer feels hot. Pippin and Merry retreat to the stacks of food with a promise to return to you as soon as possible.

You begin to fumble with your hands as you look down at your feet. Guilt had begun to settle on your shoulders and questions played in your mind: what if Pippin hadn't pulled you back? What if the firework went off at a different angle? What if the explosion was more powerful? What if... You dred to think as you press the palms of your hands to your face in an attempt to cool you down. The relief is immensely unexpected as you pull back to cover your cheeks and eyes, a pleasant ice slowly creeping over them. This time, as you pull back, you hear raised voices coming from not too far away.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took! I might have known such clowns as yourselves would be up to childish tricks!"

You begin to canter towards the voice until it comes into view who is talking. You carefully edge behind a nearby tree to spot Gandalf looking down greatly at both Pippin and Merry. Sam and Frodo were stood behind Gandalf, both with their arms crossed and brows low in disappointment. You felt as if you should take the blame, it was your fault after all for lighting the firework. As you step forward, a twig snaps under your imposing foot and catches Frodo's attention. His head shoots in your direction, catching your eyes like he always did. His faun lips begin to open before he turns to say something to Gandalf. You turn around where you are to push your back against the trunk, heart racing in fear. He wouldn't tell Gandalf would he? Your heartbeat heavies sending thick pulses through your chest. Your face returned to the same heat as earlier as sweat starts to bead at your forehead. You could only imagine what vile act Gandalf would set upon you if he found out.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you peek your head over a low branch to check the situation once more. Merry and Pippin's heads seem to be hung even lower in shame as Sam joins in with Gandalf's rage. Frodo is nowhere to be seen - maybe he felt bad like you? They didn't really deserve what ever punishment they were about to receive. They couldn't have done it without you. Probably.

After thinking long and hard, you decide to take responsibility for your actions. Hesitantly taking a few tiny steps forward, you focus on your breathing and how you'd explain. '_Well you see, sir, I just happened to be by the tent when Pippin and Merry were -' _

Your thoughts are lost as someone pulls you back hard by the waist and towards the tree. You try to scream but a soft yet firm hand wraps around your mouth. Tightly closing your eyes, you feel yourself being pinned to the trunk. You hear your name close to your ear; such a familiar voice, sending a sweet shiver down your spine.

"Frodo?" Your voice comes out slightly husky as you open your eyes to meet his face. He was close again, like earlier in the forrest, with his liquid eyes dancing so bright even in the moonlight.

"Are you crazy going over there?" He snarls, "Gandalf doesn't take kindly to see sort of matters - no one can reason with him now."

"We'll actually..." You start, "It was kind of my fault. I set the firework off. I shouldn't have done it and I know that."

As you speak, the colour drains from Frodo's face, his jaw slowly drops, his eyes widen. The grip on you tightens as he leans closer, your foreheads almost touching.

"I could kill them," he mumbles, looking back towards the argument. "Sam promised me he'd keep you safe, and those two idiots should know better. I'm sorry they pulled you into that." Frodo looks back at you, the only shine from his eyes being the saltwater that had begun to form in the corners.

"It's no one's fault but my own, Frodo." You assured him, placing your small hand against his cheek to wipe a tear away with your thumb. Cautiously, you smile up at him, hoping for a mirror. Frodo's charming grin plasters his face and his eyes light up once more. You can feel you breathing becoming heavier and quicker, the lights in the tree blurring in with the stars. All your touch dulls except for the feeling of Frodo's reassuring hand on your shoulder and your palm on his face. You bet he doesn't even know he makes you feel like this, as he seems to be keeping his cool perfectly, icy eyes piercing into your darting ones.

"You've hurt yourself." Frodo worries as he pulls down the shoulder of you dress to reveal your battered collar. A small yet deep cut runs through a cluster of purple bruises where you had been tackled to the ground. You hadn't noticed anything until Frodo showed you; no pain at all. Hesitantly, you stroke your hand over it, a dull sting making its way through your sternen. You could tolerate it just enough to heave in a gruntle.

"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing." You smile wearily, pulling back at your clothes. "I'll sort it when I get home."

"No."

"What?"

"Let me take care of it. Come on, I'll take you back to Bag-End - I'm sure Bilbo won't be back until later anyway. There's some books somewhere about healing herbs and such that could probably help."

"Thank you," You simper, "You really don't have to. But... Before we go, you promised me a dance, Mr Frodo."

Frodo's smile turned into a slight grimace, "I really think we should be going /now/. If anyone finds out that you were involved, heaven knows what would happen."

Letting a small sigh escape your mouth, you decide that it's probably best to leave everything behind. "I still feel guilty, leaving them to take all the punishment..."

"They can handle it - Gandalf isn't that bad, really."

"We should get going then." You smile, taking Frodo's hand and pulling him along the cobblestone path. He's surprised a little at your touch, yet trails behind you obediently before catching you around your knees and waist. The elevation followed quickly as you let out a small, unexpected yelp. Both of you exchange giddy smiles, all the same, keeping gaze in the other's eyes. You link your hands behind his neck, catching his curls in your fingers now and then.

"You really don't have to do this, Frodo." You say.

"Hey, what are friends for?" He smiles, pushing open the gate to Bag-End with his hip. Friends. Of course he was your friend, and it was silly for you to think anything else. His worry and manners were because you are his friend. And he could never see you how you saw him.


	4. A Helping Hand

Although on the surface you felt the same, the idea of deepening your relationship with Frodo constantly played in your mind; how his bare skin would feel against your's, what his lips would taste like, where he'd let your hands wonder. Your grip on him tightens as he opens and closes the door to Bag-End, smiling still. He shuffles through the warm halls, candles still burning on the walls. This hobbit hole was always so warm, so inviting - the lighting bright, fires almost always burning and it smelt deliciously of allspice and rosemary.

After a little more walking, you eventually stop outside an end room. Frodo bends slightly to turn the door handle without having to put you down. The inside of the room seems to be a spare bedroom of sorts, clutter and books scattered everywhere, with the bed hardly made and the only light being a few streams of moonlight from the window. You're set down on a small settee that stands opisite an empty fire.

"I appologise for the state of my room." Calls Frodo from where he is collecting belongings from the floor to clear away, "I never really get any visitors in here." He smirks.

"No, no, it's perfectly fine!" You sputter, reaching over to the nearby coffee table to light a candle with Pippin's matches you still had. A pleasantly surprising smell of red berries and cinnamon filled the air a few mere moments after you do so. You set about Frodo's room, as you now assume, lighting the fire and candles and helping Frodo stack his books. The same pain you felt earlier jolts thoughout your form again as you lift, grimacing as you did so.

"(Y/n), what are you doing?!" Frodo asks urgently, "You'll hurt yourself terribly!"

"No, it's fine really. It'll be over with faster if I help."

"But you're hurt! It's hurting you, please don't deny it."

You stop to think a little; if it meant that much to him, you guess you could sit for five minutes. You light one last candle above the mantle and retake your seat on the sofa.

"I'll be back in a moment!" Frodo shouts as he bolts out of the bedroom door. You assume he's gone to find the things he needs to help with your cuts and bruises. He really must be worried about you to go into so much trouble. It was these sort of situations that always got you thinking about other situations with Frodo, leading you far too far to, well, a specific situation.

It would be nice though; he was always so caring and attentive, constantly smiling, considering how many people frowned upon him and Bilbo. Their association with elves, dwarves and especially Gandalf did not go down well with the village folk, most who were too naïve to welcome adventure and diversity. Frodo always loved reading too, even as a child. Not always for the ancestry and history, but for stories and poems of far off, exotic lands; heros saving the world from all the dark creatures of Mordor. That was what made Frodo different - his unconscious need for excitement in a celebratory simple life.

Lost in your trail of thought, you didn't notice Frodo had slipped back in again, arms full of books and jars of sort. He sets them down on the table, vials and bottles falling everywhere. You reach over to catch one, pain shooting through you again. Sitting up, you place it on the table, Frodo smiling up at you in thanks. He flicks open a worn book, scanning downwards with his forefinger before skipping to another page when his smiles. After checking the page over a few times, Frodo reaches for a cloth and pours a minty-green liquid onto it.

"Now this may sting a little..." He trails off, pulling the shoulder of your dress, before pressing the cloth to your cut. You take a sharp intake of breath, biting down on you lip and tensing slightly. Frodo looks up at you apologetically, eyebrows knit close together. He pats the material a little before setting it to the side

"I'm sorry." He mumbles.

"You're trying to help. There's not need to be sorry." You smile at him, running a hand through his hair. He grins back at you, breath deepening a little at the contact. Frodo then proceeds to sort through the bottles before coming to one filled with some sort of dried flower. The lid opens with an audible 'pop' before Frodo reaches in to bring out a handful of the contents.

"May I?" He asks, reaching for the fabric again. You hold back the neck of your dress for Frodo to daub your cut with the creamy coloured plant. He kept his eyes steady on your face, scanning for any signs of pain. It was such an innocently caring action, but you knew it could lead to oh-so-much more.

Pushing these thoughts aside, you concentrate on the flickering of the flame on the fireplace. Colours of citrine, scarlet and orange dance in patchy waltzes, distracting you from the feel on your chest. All the while, you could feel a set of eyes watching yours; icy, piercing eyes orbs of strife. You ignore them, keeping thoughts of Frodo away at all costs, concentrating on the fire.

Eventually, the dabbing stops; you turn back to smile up at Frodo in thanks. He's leaning so close to you now, something he seems to be doing alot recently, hovering over you as his warm, sweet breath sweeps your face. The fact that he was here looking after /you/ of all people was too much to fully comprehend, let alone appreciate properly. Such a beautiful, caring hobbit concerned about your health and well being.

Losing yourself in his eyes momentarily, you feel the heat from your heart rush to your cheeks, painting them a faint rose. Your smile widens with embarrassment, completely losing all words you could say from your head.

Before you know it, Frodo leans in towards you even further and places a feather light kiss onto your lips, hardly there at all. The feeling is indescribable. It's as if you've been pierced through the heart with a morgul blade and numbness has settled in you. Yet instead of hurt and pain, love and comtentment burst from within you. Your field of vision is stars and suns, suns and stars. Light is everywhere: pouring from your fingertips, filling your heart, resting in your mouth. You pout your lips out, as if asking it to continue for longer than Frodo had first anticipated, but it is not to last.

In an almost shock, Frodo pulls back, eyes frantically searching your face. A look of guilt comes upon him and he hangs his head in almost shame.

"I-I apologise, (y/n). I didn't mean..." He is unable to finish his sentence as you wrap your hands behind his neck to pull him into another kiss, this one more tender. You pull yourself up, and then into his lap, lips staying locked with his at all times. At first, he stays pretty rigid, but after you begin to let your hands flow through his curls, his mouth becomes responsive and he silently traces lines up and down your back. His lips are so soft, like rose petals infact, and most likely even the same colour. And taste so sweet! Sweet like honey, or perhaps syrup, laced with hints of hazel. They send shivers to your very core as Frodo catches your bottom lip between his. This is nothing invading or sexual in any way - just a long, sweet kiss that feels perfect after such an awing day.

Frodo's hands begin to linger, putting up your warning signs that you should stop. Both of you wimper a little as you pull back, hands remaining where they were. That had been so perfectly innocent you you wanted it to finish like that too. During the next few minutes, you just sit and look into the others eyes. Not a word is uttered, on your part because you can't think of anything to say.

"Uhm..." You begin, not really sure how to finish. Suddenly, there is a sudden interest in the floor as you find your eyes fixated upon it.

"It's getting pretty late..." Frodo trails off, "You can spend the night here if you want." His hands start to move even lower. How is it he's so calm and collective after /that/?

"No, I think I should get back. Mother and Father will want to know my whereabouts."

"Ahh, I see. Well goodnight then, (y/n)." There is strain in his voice, as if he is overly saddened. Cold air hits you as Frodo drops his arms to release to from his warm embrace. You can't be sure whether its your body overreacting, or if Frodo's touch gave you hot, tingly feelings inside.

"Goodnight Frodo." You simper, jumping from Frodo's knees and making your way out of the room. It's not like you didn't think of Frodo in that way, really, you did. But he is a Baggins. And like everyone knows, Bagginses have a tendency to stray fro the norm and wander into the unknown. A dangerous place for a potential husband, your father says.

But maybe Frodo could be an exception.

"Frodo," You turn to him before pulling on the brassy knob of the front door, "I'm going to the Green Dragon with my parents tomorrow night. You can come with your friends if you want - it'll lighten up the mood a little."

"Thank you, (y/n). I'll see if I can make if. If not I'm sure Merry and Pippin will be up for some of it." Frodo's smile is a little melancholy, although he does his best to maintain composure. He really was a kind and gentle hobbit, more than most you know.

"Goodnight." You peck him quickly on the cheek before turning on your heel to stroll into the glittering night in The Shire.


	5. Don't Get Your Hopes Up

[Frodo's POV]

Dear God, what happened? She now thinks me an idiot. I shouldn't have kissed her. That's not what she wanted at all - all those herbs must have drugged her slightly. I run my shaking hand over my head, pacing infront of the fire. Pinpoints of light dot the skies outside. Wait, it's nightime?! (Y/n) will be alright, yes? Maybe I should go after her... No, she's fine - what's the worst that could happen? I shouldn't be so concerned for her anyway.

There's limits I must have, looking after my friend. 'Don't get carried away,' I repeat to myself, humming along to an old travelling song Bilbo taught me. My pacing slows and I come to rest on the nearby dining chair, crossing and re-crossing my legs, as if anticipating something. Which is ridiculous, of course. It's not as if (y/n) is going to come cantering back her to declare her undying love for me. I'm just lucky she even let me touch her like that.

I circle my throbbing temples with the cool tips of my fingers. Surely I should have known better? What does it matter now, though? She's probably gonna running home to tell her mother all about that strange Baggins boy.

Sighing is getting me nowhere.

"Frodo?" A slightly drunken voice calls out my name. Clacking of keys and such echo off the walls as the door is pulled to a tight close. I know who it is immediately.

"I'm in here, Bilbo." I call out, poking my head through the arch to great his slightly flushed grin.

"Ahh, there you are, my boy." He simpers. "Gandalf was just telling me about the little talk you two had earlier."

Gandalf? I rake back through my memory of this evening, to come up almost blank. All I can remember is (y/n), without any complaints at that. Knitting my brow together, realisation strikes and I regain composure.

"You mean about visiting the dwarves?" Gandalf had talked to me earlier about going to Erebor for some sort of family business. It all seemed a little shady to me, considering they all know Bilbo so well, especially about his younger days.

"Yes! I think it's a wonderful idea!" Bilbo hurries into the kitchen to boil a kettle over the fire. I lean against the wall watching the water fall into the brass and slosh against the sides.

"Will you be coming to?" I ask. It's such a scary thought, travelling so far to an unknown place to meet dwarves who seem to know so much more about my own uncle than me.

"Yes, yes, yes." He waves it off, scouring the cupboards for teacups. He comes to no avail, so I reach to a higher shelf and pull down two mis-matched mugs. He smiles thankfully before place ing them on the hard oak table and setting about the room to find milk.

"What about (y/n)...? I mean, we'll be gone for so long..." I sigh. My eyes suddenly find comfort in tracing the lines separating the terracotta floor tiles. The sound of Bilbo's shuffling stops, but I daren't meet his gaze. I've never told anyone about my feelings for (y/n), apart from hinting to Sam, though he picked up on it soon enough.

"Well, you tell me." Says Bilbo. His sober stage has started to kick in, his tone a little more serious.

"I just don't want to leave her... If anything happened to her, I couldn't live with myself..." Water-filled eyes trail up to meet Bilbo's. "I-I think I love her, uncle."

The older hobbit's once understanding face now changes into a sad sort of smile. He pads over from the counter and swings a gentle arm around my shoulders. My tears follow close behind; I feel them stain my cheeks, but don't let out a cry. I won't let out a cry.

"Now, I don't know how to tell you this." Voice clear yet warm. "But she's already engaged."

The pricking in my eyes stop, all my muscles loosen, my vision blurs. If I had been holding china right now, my heart wouldn't have been the only thing in pieces on the floor. (Y/n) can't be engaged, she just can't. And surely if she is, I know she would have told me. Right? She's too young and innocent for that sort of thing - sure, she just turned thirty, but shouldn't she be able to live out her childhood fully?

"Who?" It comes out in a croak, my throat too dry to from any proper coherence.

"Peregrin... The Tooks and The (l/n)'s have been close for years, Frodo. Surely, you saw something like this coming...?" All humour from his voice is dropped, replaced by melancholy and empathy. Well, at least he cares.

"No." My voice barely above a whisper. "She can't."

"I'm not even sure she knows it yet." Bilbo's attempts to reassure me can't move me. "It's not her fault, lad."

"But she kissed me..."

Tired of throwing myself deeper into an emotional spiral, I slip out from under his arm and drag my feet back to the room where only moments ago I was so overcome with happiness. I lock the door behind me, calling for Bilbo not to bother me. He seems to listen as the whistle of the kettle squeals through the house and is swiftly silenced.

All the candles still burn a friendly orange glow, almost mocking my sadness. Medicines still line the low table and a small, remembering smile creeps over my lips. I can't help but throw myself down onto the coffee-coloured sofa, her sent still lingering on the cushions. It's not wrong to inhale the scent of an already-promised woman, right? Too late for that now, I guess, as her sugary, floral smell comforts me into a questionably easy sleep.


	6. Surprises

(F/n) = father's name

(M/n) = mother's name

(S/c) = skin colour (although you probably already knew that)

* * *

"And just where have you been young lady?"

"I was just walking back from the festival, father." The front door of you home creaks shut as you pad into the brightly-lit living room. You father greets you with a rather stern looking grimace and your mother with a pleasant smile. They knew you'd be back a little later than usual, so what's with all the fuss?

"We have plans tomorrow, or today as it were. Can you not learn to keep track of time - it's already the early hours of morning!" Upset would not be the word for it - your father seems troubled and slightly angered. Crease lines etch his forehead, cutting deep with worry. Are a few drinks really that important?

"It doesn't matter now, though." Your mother coos to him softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Did you have fun dear?"

"I did!" You beam, placing yourself into the nearby armchair, careful not to strain your shoulder. "The music and food was amazing! I was with my friends Merry and Frodo and -"

"Frodo? The Baggins?" Your father questions, his temper not seeming to calm.

"Er, yes. H-he asked me to go with Pippin and Merry, as well as himself. He is a f-friend of mine y-you know, father." You sputter out, cold sweat breaking out on your neck. You know how much your father dislikes you associating with the Bagginses.

Fumbling hands and quaking knees is the signal for you mother to step in once again.

"(F/n), you heard her, just her friends. I don't see any harm in being friends with him."

"But what if they-!"

"Shhh, they won't." Your mother place's a small kiss on your father's (s/c) forehead. "Big plans tomorrow, you should be off to bed."

Your father sighs, settling him self. He runs a hand across his face, wiping the small sheen away. "I guess you're right, (m/n). I'll see you bright and early, (y/n). Dress nice and act proper."

"Goodnight, father." You simper as he trudges down the hall to his and your mother's room. It's just you and your mother left now. She's about the room putting out the candles and you sit watching her from your chair.

"What's so important about tomorrow?" You ask you mother. She turns to you, her cheeks crinkling into a smile.

"Your father has some important news to tell you. To tell everyone, infact. Although you're the last to know." She pauses for a moment, thinking about something. "A surprise, if you will."

"A-a surprise?!" Your face suddenly lights up, your eyes widening as your cheeks glow. Surprises are normally wonderful things. "What kind of surprise?"

"He insists you'll like it."

"Do you think I'll like it, mother?"

"I... I'm not sure, (y/n). But I think it'll all turn out just right in the end." Worry lines tamper with her one cooly composed face as her eyes lower to the candles more."

"You don't seem too sure..."

"Personally I think the matter should have been discussed with you first." She stops as the last flame is puffed out. "But there's not much that can be done now. Night sweetheart."

Following the same exit as your father, your mother strolls to her room and leaves you in the comforting darkness. Darkness is a useful tool - it gives you all the space and time in the universe to think. But to think about what, though? How within the past hour you might have just had the best moments of your life? You run a finger over your soft bottom lip, remembering the kiss from earlier. There's nothing wrong in being in love it's a Baggins boy. In fact, it's pretty fun and magical.

But your father doesn't seem to think that. Whatever his plans are for tomorrow, there's a small sickening feeling in your stomach that tells you sometching won't be right, unaccording to your morals or believes or something. Father never likes to involve in public business. Too risky, he says; onlookers may get the wrong idea. But this is down the local of all places, hardly business like at all. Mugabe not business then, but perhaps, just maybe.

A good surprise.

Either way it won't matter: you can sneak off with Frodo, Merry and Pippin when the chance arises.


	7. A Party?

You had spent all day prettying yourself up to the best of your abilities - bathing, scrubbing, painting and such. Your mother had even twisted your hair into the most beautiful patterns and turns you've ever seen. Being only confined to 'clean' food, such as simple vegetables, nuts and bread, your stomach growls at the lack of chocolate and other sticky substances. Your father didn't want you to ruin the (f/c) dress your mother had specially embroided for you. Tugging the low neckline of the paler under blouse up a bit, you assess yourself one last time in the large mirror hanging beside your bed.

Sure, you look gorgeous, you suppose. But for what occasion exactly? It isn't anyone's birthday, and your snooty, secluded family don't strike up business deals too often, and even then, you don't get involved. Sighing, you smooth your petite, manicured hands over the silky skirt before slipping your favourite woven bag around you and treading out of your room.

Whatever this is all for, it better be important for messing up your goddamn eating and reading patterns. You had planned to go out painting by the stream today, but that wasn't allowed because 'you could get hurt or dirty' not like that actually mattered to you: you'd rather be covered in mud and paint than sat in all this stuffy clothing and makeup.

"(Y/n)! It's time to go dear!" Your mother calls to you, just as you arrive to the front door where she's smiling. She's wearing a dress similar to yours, although hers is slightly longer, reaching mid calf in dark brown colour. Your father enters through the nearest door frame, pulling a green velvet jacket over his dress shirt.

"We'll be going then!" Your father opens the front door, holding it for both you and your mother, before turning around to lock it. The early evening air is a friendly caress to your flustered, powdered cheeks, making you smile as you slog down the winding path to the main road. Your mother catches up with you whist your father briskly stumps up front. Determination and a slight excitement shows in his every step, his smile broadening as his arms swing more freely.

"Mother, what exactly is this all about?" You ask, furrowing your brow slightly.

"Like I said, a surprise." She smiles back a little wearily. "You'll find out when we get there."

Light breezes and orange skies do nothing to calm your anxiousness. Not even the adorable lambs bouncing in the passing fields that seem to be complete copies of the fluffy clouds above. The callously pointed stones that bruise your feet as you walk just increase your uncertainty, making the cogs in your head turn ever more. This beautfiul summer evening is just a contrast to your emotions, almost mocking you in a way, toying with your head. Anything could happen.

You continue on in this dream-like state for the rest of the journey, your mind trying to focus on the sunset, yet being led astray from the true matter at hand. You hate how far in the dark you are about what is happening; you mother refusing to answer your questions properly and your father just lolling in a happy mindset.

Some form of relief fills you as you reach the front door to the Green Dragon, the rich smells of ale and cakes already flooding your lungs. All you want right now is to sit down and eat, no matter what the occasion is. Before going through, your father tells you to link your arm in his, which after a little puzzling, you comply by. His (e/c) eyes crinkle in the warm glow coming from the latticed windows whilst his mouth curves into a broad beam. Your mother opens the door for you both and you take a deep breath before stepping over the doorframe

Everyone turns to look at you. Everyone. Blood rushes to your cheeks at all of the sudden attention, your palms turning sweaty. And that's just when a large cry of 'CONGRATULATIONS' calls through the entire room. You look to your father questioningly, now waving to the cheering crowd before you. Seeming completely oblivious to you, you turn to your mother who just returns with an almost sympathetic look.

The room shines brighter than normal, all of the candles being lit to illuminate the room fully, giving off a party-type atmosphere. Along with the loud folk band playing near the fire and the whoops and hollers of everyone, that's sure what it seems like; one big party. A congratulations party? But you haven't done anything! Nothing that deserves this sort of celebration, anyway.

You scan the room to try and find a familiar face, coming to no avail. Heck, it must be half of Hobbiton's crammed into this place. There was Ms. Springleaf from the market with her son, and over there; Mr Tolkien (see what I did?) with his wife. Some people you don't even recognise, mainly the young children who run around at your feet. This only adds to your stress, that beating in your chest growing ever faster and harder. All of these people are here for you, but...

There, in the middle of it all, sit four very-flustered young hobbits, two more embarrassed than the others, staring right at you with empathetic expressions.


	8. Toasts

**I'll apologise now for my sucky accent-writing. It's worse than usual . Just imagine those adorable Scottish and Somerset accents.**

* * *

Nothing could have hidden the spreading blush that adorns your face. Sure, you had invited your friends here, but now you knew everyone was coming here? Well, they could be anywhere from fumbling to fuming. Did they think you see keeping secrets from them? Did they know what was happening all along? It's probably a good idea to talk to them, but your feet refuse to move, your eyes stay fixated on theirs.

"(Y/n)?" The voice of your father pulled you back into reality, as well as physically by the arm. "Why don't you come meet your soon-to-be inlaws! They're dying to have a word!"

"M-my... Pardon, what?" The blush long gone on your face to be replaced with a sickly green. He could not have just said that. You swear he didn't say... Inlaws. Your empty stomach churns in both confusion and embarrassment. There was no way you could be...

"Yes! Paladin and Eglantine! They're just over there with Pervinca!"

Paladin... Eglantine... Pervinca... But they're all-

"Go! Go talk to everyone! Exert your social skills!" With a hard shove, you're sent hurtling into the middle of the room, every pair of eyes on you. The room temperature rockets as sweat starts to bead on your perfectly powdered forehead. You let out an awkward chuckle, trying to reassure both yourself and your apparent audience. Okay, that didn't work. Talking to people, huh? Maybe you can do that, if you find someone worth talking to.

"(Y/n)." Pippin's voice sounds a lot more urgent than usual as he grabs your wrist in an attempt to pull you out of the way of everyone, only making matters worse. "I need to tell you something. It's -"

"I know." You state, too in shock to even stutter. Any emotion is pushed away in a semi-acceptance of your situation.

"You have to believe meh when aye say aye had no idea."

"I didn't either."

It's easy to see how afraid he is in his eyes. Pippin isn't a bad person, but you wouldn't... Marry him, exactly. And to be quite fair, you can never detect any interest in you from him. People surrounding you give out occasional 'aaws' and such, all of them 'so happy for the adorable couple.' Suddenly, being sucked through the floor into a black pit doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

"Your father is Thain, right?" It was your father who had arranged this, which probably meant some sort of agreement, offering you as some sort of deal.

"Y-yes." Stutters Pippin, his hand dropping from yours. "We should probably talk about this somewhere a wee bit more... Out of the way." With that, he begins to walk back over to the table where he was sat before, Sam, Merry and Frodo staring at their feet. You begin to follow behind him, easily keeping the same pace. But then you can see Frodo's eyes. Those magnificently blue orbs that always shine so bright now struggle to even appear dull, sunken almost into the back of his head. His hair is more mused than normal, straying across his face in far too many places. You shouldn't have to see him like this - hey, it's not as if he was the one getting engaged!

'Maybe he's jealous, jealous that it's Pippin and not him.'

Yeah, right; he doesn't see you in that way remember? Don't get your hopes up, he's probably just sad his youngest friend unexpectedly pulled a bird before him. Maybe he'll be okay after a few more drinks.

Tentatively, you pull up a stool next to Sam, contemplating whether or not you should make a run for it - the door isn't too far away. Sam doesn't seem that fased, most of his attention switching focus between Frodo and the now-warm ale that sits infront of him. Merry tried to hide his snickering, almost amused by it all. You have to admit, in anyone else's circumstances, you would probably be giggling along with him, but his laughter only keeps you further on the edge. You really don't want this: not now, not with Pippin, not with all these people here too.

"(Y/n)." Pippin begins. "I-I think maybe we should just try to play along. I'm sure we can find some way out of -"

"How though?!" You shoot, an icy sheen sweeping over your eyes. You never snap at anyone like that, ever. But right now you are confused, distraught and need someone to blame your situation on. "Its already been decided amongst some of the highest nobles in all The Shire!" You can't just expect them to-"

"Naaw, but you two would be so complimenting to each other!" Squeals Merry in a mocking tone, raising his mug in a half-hearted toast. "Long live the happy couple!" A light dusting of pink graces Pippin's cheeks as he smirks to gain reassurance,

"I think you've had too much to drink, you oaf." You snap. Your seat hits top he floor as you fly to your feet, fists pounding on the table. "This is a serious thing and all you're doing is making matters worse! Do you think we both CHOSE this? Are you entertained?"

By now everyone is enjoying the show. And why shouldn't they be? The engaged woman was shouting at four very elligable young hobbits, one being her... Fiancé. That's what you are, you figure. Pippin's fiancé. As much as you hated to admit it, yeah, you are. And all these people watching? They know that well, probably better than you.

"Oh, she's always like that!" Pippin exclaims, throwing a casual arm around your shoulder. "She'll be fine soon, just a wee bit too much to drink, isn't that right, (y/n)?" He quickly pecks your cheek in a friendly manner, setting you back down in your chair with a pat on the head. Your lip tremble, tears threatening to burst free any moment.

Everyone soon goes back to what they were doing before, whether it be eating, talking or toasting. There's too much alcohol in the air with people hiccuping left right and centre and the smell is starting to make you sick. You're just about to excuse yourself outside when Frodo speaks up.

"I-I think I need to go outside for a second." He mumbles, slowly rising from his seat.

"I'll come with you." You huff, pulling yourself up.

"No, no. Ah, I think I'll be okay on my own."

"But I-"

"No, it's... Just fine. Enjoy your party, (y/n)."

And with that, the love of your life stormed out of his best friends' engagement party.


	9. Utterly and Completely Hammered

The rest of the night just... Passed. The only thing you can remember is the chaste kisses and drunken singsong. You had decided to play along after all, with the help from a drink or three. Maybe you actually had some sort of fun. Or perhaps it was just the alcohol acting for you. It was just a blur or dancing and joking, and far too much pipeweed. Your father hadn't seemed to mind though - as long as he saw his daughter happy at the engagement he had arranged, he would drink himself silly for lovers' sake.

That was part of your problem right now. The pounding in your head is becoming unbearable, and your stomach doesn't feeling too good either. You've never been much of a juicer, meaning last night was quite a surprise on your system, leaving you with regret and future reference. You sigh again, burying yourself deeper into the duvet of your bed. The warmth gives you a somewhat sense of comfort, but you can't help wandering about Frodo, how he stormed out last night. That is the one thing you wish you couldn't remember.

Gut instinct tells you to speak to him right away and ask what's wrong, but if he was so eager to get away from you, perhaps you should leave him be. Besides, you've already botched your friendship with him the night you kissed, and he was probably just still brassed off with you. If that was how he felt, you should just keep you distance.

But you can't.

How do you stay so uninterested in a boy full of so much passion and adventure? One who you're insanely inlove with? Could he just push you away like that? You tried, you really did, but maybe you just weren't blatant enough with him. Being shy has never helped you in these situations, only keeping you from what you really want to say. If you had told him a long time ago, maybe you wouldn't even be in this mess in the first place.

You squint at the sun as it seeps through your curtains, throwing its citrus rays across you bed and into your eyes. Ouch. Whatever the time is, it doesn't matter anyway - spending the whole day cooped up in your room doesn't seem like a half bad idea, giving you time to both think and recover. The headache swings back a little harder again and you bring a hand to your head to rub at your temple. How are you supposed to think when your head is all screwed up like this?

"(Y/n)? Are you up darling?"

Oh great, and just as you were about to try and sleep. You raise your hand in a half-hearted motion to come in, grunting in response. The door creaks open to see your mother with a tray of toast, fruit and tea, already up and dressed. How exactly could she do that? After placing the food down onto your bedside table, your mother perches herself on the edge of your bed still smiling.

"Are you feeling any better?" Her voice is soft as always, reaching to stroke stray strands of hair from your face. At least someone could care about your well being in the absence of your best friend. You really need to stop reminding yourself about that.

"Mmh, I'll be fine." You murmur, rubbing your still-banging head. That damned sunlight is still hitting blasted rays into your face; you pull yourself up into a half slouching, half sitting position in an attempt to get away slightly. It didn't work and it still pains your (e/c) orbs.

"I'm not on about that."

"Then what do you mean?"

"About... You getting married and all..." Your mother trails off. A panicked look crosses your face, unsure of what to say. Was she all for you getting married? Or should you just lie?

"Uhm, I mean, yeah... Pippin's pretty nice." You simper forcibly. In truth, he is. You just don't particularly want to be married to the guy.

"No, tell me the truth. What do you really think?"

"I..." You think for a minute, trying to come up with a way that won't sound rude or ungrateful. Your father probably pulled a lot of strings for this, but he really should have bothered from the way you see it. He always had to think of his business affairs first. You weren't even asked for god's sake. "I don't love him. I don't want to marry someone I don't love. Why can't I just pick on my own?"

"I know it's hard, love." Your mother scoots up to you, gently slinging an arm around you. "But maybe you could grow to love him? There's really nothing I can do. I've already tried reasoning with your father, but-"

"I don't want to, though!" You sob, ignoring the added pain it added to your already weak form. "I-I'm already in love! I could never do such a thing..."

Your mother stays silent as you sob into her shoulder, now lost for words. That she hadn't expected, and it was going to make this situation a lot more difficult. There's no reasoning with you now.


End file.
